A faint cry echoed across the gentle hills of Lunaria, a remote vilge nestled in the verdant folds of the Southern Reaches. The morning sun had barely breached the horizon, casting a golden hue over the thatched rooftops and cobblestone paths. Birds chirped cheerfully, unaware that the world had just witnessed a miracle—one that could shift the bance of fate.

  Inside a modest cottage, built with love more than luxury, a woman held her newborn close to her chest. Sweat clung to her brow, and her eyes shimmered with tears—not of pain, but of overwhelming joy.

  "Caelum... that's his name," she whispered softly, brushing a strand of silver-blonde hair away from her son's flushed face. Her husband, a broad-shouldered man with weathered hands and a kind smile, stood beside her, eyes wide with wonder.

  "He's strong," the man murmured. "His grip... like he's already holding a sword."

  But within the tiny infant, there was more than just the strength of a healthy baby.

  There was awareness.

  Caelum was not simply a newborn. He was the reincarnation of Kael Ardyn, the man once known as the Godsyer.

  ---

  Kael had once ruled the battlefield like a storm. With his bde Eclipse, he had cleaved through armies and monsters alike. He was the final line between humanity and annihition. Kingdoms crumbled and gods fell before him. They called him a hero, a legend, a divine warrior.

  But behind every cheer, every cry of praise, was a distance he could never cross.

  They feared him.

  Even his own allies had walked on eggshells around him. He was the weapon, the ultimate trump card, but never a friend. Never a brother. Never a son.

  And so, in the end, as he stood amidst the ruins of the final battle—alone, wounded, victorious—he realized something terrifying.

  There was no one left to mourn him.

  He had won. But he had lost everything.

  In his final moments, Kael had not cried for the gods he had sin or the power he wielded. He cried for the moments he had missed—the ughter shared over campfires, the comfort of a hand on his shoulder, the gentle warmth of a lover’s embrace. All sacrificed in the pursuit of strength.

  As his vision faded, he whispered his final wish to the void:

  "Please... let me start over. I don’t want to be strong. I want to be loved."

  ---

  And now, here he was.

  The world was new. Brighter. Softer. The cold cng of steel had been repced with birdsong and lulbies.

  He was Caelum now. Son of Elira and Doran, vilgers who had no royal blood or divine prophecy attached to their name. Just kindness, ughter, and calloused hands that worked the nd.

  Caelum’s infant eyes—though small and unassuming—carried the weight of two lifetimes. He couldn’t speak yet, but he remembered. The roar of war. The crushing weight of solitude. The regret that gnawed at his soul.

  But more than that—he felt something new.

  Hope.

  Lying in his mother’s arms, listening to the heartbeat that pulsed beneath her skin, he felt warmth that no divine artifact had ever given him. Watching his father build a crib by hand, humming off-key and grinning to himself, Caelum felt a joy that made his chest ache.

  He was weak now. He could barely lift a finger. But that was fine.

  Because he had time.

  He would grow. He would ugh. He would cry. He would fall and rise not because the world demanded it, but because he wanted to live.

  He had no interest in becoming a hero.

  He just wanted to be happy.

  ---

  As weeks passed, Caelum began adjusting to his new life. Every sound, every scent was foreign yet fascinating. He learned the rhythm of vilge life—the rooster’s crow, the chatter of merchants, the smell of fresh bread from old Lysa’s bakery.

  He watched his mother care for the wounded and the sick with gentle hands and gentle words. He watched his father chop wood, train young vilgers with wooden swords, and tell exaggerated tales of his adventuring days.

  They were simple people.

  But they were good people.

  And for the first time in countless years, Kael—now Caelum—felt like he belonged.

  Even in moments of solitude, when the memories of his past life threatened to overwhelm him, he reminded himself of his promise.

  “This life will be different.”

  “I will not seek power for power’s sake.”

  “I will protect—not because I must, but because I love.”

  ---

  On the day Caelum turned one, a strange thing happened.

  As his father held him high into the air, ughing and cheering with the vilgers during the small celebration, Caelum felt something stir deep within him. A flicker. A pulse. A warmth not from the fire, but from within.

  His eyes—normally a soft gray—glowed faintly for a split second, unnoticed by all but one.

  An old man, cloaked in patchwork robes, smoking a crooked pipe in the corner of the vilge square, narrowed his eyes.

  He muttered to himself, "That boy... I’ve seen that glow before. Long ago... when the Godsyer walked the nds."

  But then he chuckled, dismissing the thought. "No... the Godsyer died a hundred years ago. And this one... he just wants to smile."

  And indeed, Caelum smiled.

  For though the embers of his past life still burned within him, they would not control him.

  He was no longer Kael Ardyn, the lonely king atop a mountain of corpses.

  He was Caelum—a child of hope, of love, of second chances.

  And as the sun set on the quiet vilge of Lunaria, Caelum looked up at the sky, stars beginning to twinkle above, and made his first vow under the heavens of his new

  life:

  “I will live—not just exist.”

  “I will treasure every moment.”

  “And I will never walk alone again.”